


Too Much

by TheDogPotato



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Humiliation, Hurt, Some comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23574796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDogPotato/pseuds/TheDogPotato
Summary: This is the second time Kent has gotten attacked while out on a job alone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Too Much

The van blew up. It blew up and shattered the fragile sense of hope that had returned to the station. If anything, that made it worse, seeing the light return to the station for such a brief moment only to be plunged into a worse darkness than before.

Everyone was in a renewed state of despair at the station, that is, everyone except Mansell who was cheerfully humming a song on repeat, as he typed something on his computer.

Kent glared at him. He was only this happy cause Kent had fixed his relationship with Erica. A decision that still didn’t sit well with him, especially not now that his own small chance of happiness had gone out the window. It seemed like anger and bitterness at seeing other people happy was going to be a permanent thing in his life.

The tune continued. Kent gritted his teeth.

“Can’t you be quiet for just a second?” he snapped.

“What? I’m just happy, and this place could use a bit of cheer. You all seem like we’re at a funeral,” Mansell leaned back in his chair, a cheeky grin on his face. Kent scowled at him.

“Yeah, well a whole bunch of people _did_ just die the other day, if you don’t remember.”

“So?” Mansell shrugged. “They were a bunch of cuckoo religious murderers who almost sacrificed a kid. I’m not gonna mourn them!”

“It’s not about mourning them. It’s about actually getting a killer in alive for once and breaking this curse.”

“Curse?” Mansell scoffed and shook his head dismissively.

Kent’s lips tightened.

“This streak of bad luck,” he corrected himself, and sent Mansell a look as if to say: Are you happy?

Mansell simply shrugged again.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be happy,” he said before returning to his work.

Kent stared for a him a moment longer before doing the same.

Even as he stared into his own screen trying to get some work done, he was all too aware of Mansell, and everything he noticed, the slight slurping of him drinking his tea, the creaking of his chair as he moved in it, his breathing, everything seemed to annoy Kent to the point of him gritting his teeth, and there were no one else in the incident room for Kent to focus on.

Chandler was holed up in his office in a bad mental state, not unlike when they’d been on the Kray case. Miles was in the basement looking at Wingfield’s files again despite them being on a case currently. Riley had taken her vacation to get away from the bad work environment and have a break where she could relax at home with her kids for a while to recover mentally. Currently with no uniforms or other detectives present that left just him and Mansell, and Kent was not sure how much more of that he could take, but it was still early in the day, and Kent could only hope that his next work assignment didn’t have him stuck next to Mansell.

It all came to a head when 10 minutes later, Mansell started humming again.

“Is it really so hard to just shut up?”

“Yeah, ever had a song stuck in your brain before?” Mansell replied. “Is it really so hard for you to just ignore it? Oh no wait, it’s not the tune that’s bothering you, is it? It’s my happiness. Well, I’m allowed to be happy, mate. It’s not my fault you’re choosing to be a miserable bastard.”

“Shut up!” Kent hissed.

“Well you are! If other people’s happiness makes you so angry and bitter, because it reminds you of what you’re missing, then maybe you shouldn’t let your own happiness rely on someone who will never return your love.”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

This time Mansell wasn’t gonna get the better of him. Kent flew out of his chair and was upon Mansell before he could get out of his chair. He grabbed on to his shirt with one hand as his other connected with his face. It had less of an impact than Mansell’s punch had had on him earlier, but it did make him flinch and groan, Kent noted with satisfaction.

Mansell sneered and shoved Kent hard while getting up, so he stumbled backwards into a desk. In the time it took Mansell to stand up properly, Kent was upon him again in a frantic scuffle as Mansell protected his face with his arm.

_“Kent!”_

The sudden loud voice made them both come to a standstill.

“What is going on?!” Chandler demanded as he headed towards them in long strides.

The short-lived satisfaction was gone, and Kent stepped back from Mansell. He stared at the ground guiltily.

“Is this a personal thing, again?”

Mansell just stared at Kent. Chandler turned towards him as well.

“Well, is it?!”

Kent could only nod not daring to meet Chandler’s eyes.

“Get it sorted, Kent! Whatever it is, it is not something for you to bring to the workplace and especially not like this. This is not acceptable behaviour, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Kent said, but it was barely audible. He felt ashamed with himself that he’d let his anger take over once more. Why did he feel that way? Why couldn’t he just be happy for other people.

“This is serious, Kent. If it happens again, I _will_ have you suspended, and it will lead to disciplinary proceedings. _Do you understand?_ ”

Kent cleared his throat. It had suddenly gone dry.

“Yes, sir!” He said louder actually looking at Chandler this time. He looked furious and Kent shrank under his gaze.

Chandler glared for him a moment longer to make sure the words sunk in. He then turned to Mansell.

“Mansell,” his voice was a bit calmer. “Now that we know that the bartender who knew the victim _was_ at work the night of the murder, I need you to go back there and have a talk with the owner again about why he might have lied about that, while Miles and I go talk to the bartender.”

“Oh, sorry sir, I’m not done yet,” Mansell nodded towards his screen. Kent scowled at him. Maybe he would be done faster if he didn’t spend so much time humming tunes, he couldn’t keep from thinking. Ugh, he didn’t _want_ to be this bitter.

Chandler looked far from happy when he turned towards Kent again.

“Can I trust to let you do it without any of _this_?” He gestured vaguely at the both of them.

It hurt to have Chandler distrust him like this, but Kent only had his own actions to blame.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated for a third time. There was nothing else to say. Nothing he could add that would make the situation better.

Chandler gave him a stern nod, looked back and forward between the two of them and said: “Well get to work then!”

Despite the order, both Kent and Mansell stood in shameful silence, as they watched Chandler go downstairs to find Miles.

When he was gone, Mansell glared at Kent with a fake smile and said in a low voice:

“You better be happy he was here to break it up or your right eye would be matching your left.”

Kent returned the glare but otherwise didn’t respond, as he grabbed his coat and went out the door. At least the fact that they were short-staffed currently meant that he and Mansell didn’t have to go everywhere together, and he could be free of him while going on this task.

It didn’t take too long getting to the pub on his Vespa. He knew the place. They’d been there before knowing the victim had been there during the night of the murder. He had a friend, Kenny Donald, who worked there as a bartender, but they’d been informed that he hadn’t been at work on the night of the murder. There was no obvious motive for the friend to be involved and while the pub was dingy and dark nothing had pointed towards anything there being of note in the murder, but now that they knew from the victim’s wife that the friend _had_ been at work that night, he needed to go back to see why they would’ve lied about that detail.

Kent scrunched up his nose as he entered the establishment. The people there had clearly never heard of airing out a room. Not that there was much opportunity to. The pub was below street level with only a couple of small rectangular windows just below the ceiling. The only view was of the sidewalk and the occasional feet of pedestrians walking past. This didn’t make for a good source of natural light either and the place was dark and glum as a result. 

The whole interior had a faint yellow tint to it speaking of days gone by when people could smoke in the pub. Kent supposed he should be glad that wasn’t the case anymore or he felt he’d have had trouble breathing properly. 

At least this was just gonna be a short series of questions before he could get out of there again. How anyone would decide to spend their free time in there willingly was beyond him.

“DC Kent, I need to ask you a few questions,” Kent presented himself with his badge to the man working at the bar. It was the owner whom they’d talked to the last time they were there.

“Yeah, I remember you,” he said gruffly. “I already told you people what there was to tell last time, so I don’t know why you come poking here again.”

Kent was used to not being welcome when he came to ask questions, so he continued in stride.

“Well, it’s come to our attention that despite your claims of Kenny Donald not working on the night of the murder, he was indeed at work. Why did you tell us, he wasn’t?”

“Come to your attention, has it?” he said mockingly. “Well, _I’m_ not fucking lying, so maybe whoever you heard that shite from is the one lying.”

He stared challengingly at Kent. 

If the owner didn’t want to say anything it would just become a he said she said situation. His standoffish demeanour could just be his distrust of the cops, but it didn’t exactly make it seem like he had nothing to hide.

If Kent continued his line of enquiry, he might let something slip, but before he asked his next question a familiar voice called out to him. One he hadn’t heard in a couple of years.

“I thought I heard a familiar voice. Fancy seeing you here!”

Kent turned around to see Fitzgerald appear from a booth in the corner of the pub.

“Fitzgerald,” he said. His tone was neutral, but he was alert upon seeing him. As far as he could recall from court proceedings, he wasn’t supposed to be out yet after assisting the Krays.

“Haven’t seen you since you stumbled around on crutches. How’s your arse?” he grinned maliciously at Kent. The last time the two of them had seen each other was the night Fitzgerald and the other corrupted uniforms had trashed the incident room. They’d kicked his crutches to the other side of the room, so he couldn’t get out of his chair and had to sit there helplessly while they broke stuff around him. He’d struggled to get over to get them when they’d finally left, which they didn’t do before threatening to make sure he’d never walk again, if he told anyone about what had happened.

Fitzgerald leaned in on the bar in front of him, the same grin on his face. If there was ever a face, Kent wanted to punch more than Mansell’s it was Fitzgerald’s, but he was there to do a job, so he decided to wave him off and return to his line of enquiry.

“Good to see you again, but I’m working, so if you’ll excuse me,” he said, trying to remain as professional as he could, though he was sure his contempt for him shone through. He turned towards the owner again only to frustratedly find that he’d gone off to do other things.

Fitzgerald laughed, and Kent’s alarm bells went off, as he felt a presence behind him.

“Well, that’s not very nice, is it boys? We just wanted to have a little chat!”

Kent turned around to see who was behind him, and his stomach dropped. This was not the first time he’d been cornered by the very people who were cornering him now. He recognized the two men, a shorter grey haired man and a taller bald man, both bulky, as the uniforms who’d threateningly stood in the doorway when Kent had come to Fitzgerald in good faith that he would help him find the invoice for the builders. Both had also been present the night the incident room was trashed.

“Now, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to be rude?” 

Kent ignored his questions. He knew it was best to cut his losses and just get out of there as quick as possible, but he’d barely made a move to walk away before the men behind him grabbed onto his arms.

Kent fought to get his arms free of their grip, but they were both stronger than him and his struggles were in vain. He tried to elbow one of them, but his arm was held firmly in place. He tried to kick them, but even the kicks that landed had no effect on them, and they took it stoic silence. As his panic rose, his struggles became simultaneously wilder and less effective.

Fitzgerald just laughed at his struggles. “Now now, son, there’s no need to panic.” His grin faded from his face and he added darkly: “Yet.”

They didn’t seem to be in a rush and just let Kent struggle until he was left hyperventilating from the effort and the adrenaline. The fear and panic settled in completely now that he was certain of how powerless he was to stop them from whatever they were planning to do.

“I’d rather it’d been that pompous arsehole, but I guess you’re better than nothing,” he said and scrutinized Kent, who had stopped struggling, but couldn’t keep completely still as the men holding him had tightened their grip painfully and put some of their weight on top of his back forcing him to fight to stay upright.

Fitzgerald looked nonchalantly at his fist telegraphing what he was going to do before he did it, making Kent anxiously anticipate the pain before it even hit him.

_Thunk._

A hard hit straight to his already injured eye sent him tumbling backwards into the men holding him. Kent yelled from the pain that was instant and intense. The wound split open anew and he could feel the blood trickling down his face.

“I see someone already beat me to that. No worries.”

_Thunk_

His second fist hit even before he was done speaking, impacting the second eye. This time, Kent’s legs gave way beneath him, but the tight grips on his arms left him standing in a painful half-upright position.

Kent’s vision was blurry from the pain and tears.

_Thunk-rattle_

The third hit impacted on his jaw and his teeth clashed together. His skull was burning with pain and he felt dizzy and disoriented.

The next thing he knew, the men let go of him, and his legs, still not strong enough to carry him, buckled, and he fell on the ground.

Before he could regain any sense of what was happening around him, he felt a hard impact on his stomach that sent the wind from his lungs. He tried to gasp for air, but for a few moments, it seemed as if it was impossible to draw in breath.

He didn’t even get as far before another kick hit him in the stomach. He curled up into a ball trying to protect himself from the onslaught of kicks, gasping for air, his eyes shut tightly through the pain.

“Now hold on lads, we don’t want to be done too soon.”

In his dizzy and defensive state, Kent didn’t register the implication of that sentence, but could only appreciate the break in the onslaught of pain inflicted on him.

He tried to breathe in deeply, still desperate for air, the action intensifying the dulling pain in his whole body.

He coughed. Somehow there was blood in his mouth, though from which part he didn’t know. He spit it out, before taking in another deep painful breath.

His body was still tensed up and curled into a ball, his eyes still burning from the hits and his jaw hurt when he tried to move it. Hopefully it was still due to the initial shock and pain of the punch and not something permanent.

Kent finally opened his eyes again. His left eye stung from the blood that had trickled into it. He blinked rapidly and finally raised a hand to try to remove some of it. The touch made him flinch and he heard Fitzgerald’s laugh again.

Kent fearfully looked up at him, finally clear enough in the head to be aware of anything beyond his own body. All three men were towering above him, arms crossed, silently watching his reaction to their attacks.

“I think he might be ready for round 2.”

Kent recoiled into a ball again which prompted another laugh from Fitzgerald. It didn’t do him any good at all. One of the men grabbed his arm and hoisted him painfully onto his legs, before the other grabbed his other arm and they securely held him upright again.

“Over here, lads,” Fitzgerald nodded towards a pool table, and Kent was dragged in that direction with ease.

“Ooph,” the wind was once more knocked out of him as he was sharply thrust into the edge of the table, before they forced his upper body down on the table in an uncomfortable and painful position.

He was hyperventilating and wildly looking about trying to figure out what they were about to do, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the man forcefully keeping him in place. Then from the other side Fitzgerald leaned in.

“Argh,” Kent’s hair was forcefully gripped, and his head forced back, as Fitzgerald came even closer.

“You lot ruined my life. I will never forget that.”

Kent could only gasp in pain, though he would’ve had some choice words on how everything that happened to him was due to his own decisions.

He leant in so close to Kent’s face that he could feel his breath as he spoke, his voice low and threatening:

“You’re gonna pay for that! I’m gonna beat you so hard, you won’t be able to stand!”

He shoved Kent’s head hard down on the table again, and Kent hissed from the pain.

He tried to lift his head to see what was going on, trying to figure out what was about to happen, but it was too painful and tough to do. In a bout of panic knowing they were about to do something to him, but not knowing what, he struggled and squirmed to get out of his uncomfortable position. It was no use and he was easily kept in place.

Fitzgerald chuckled, and Kent could only imagine it was at his vain attempt going nowhere. He eventually resigned to just laying his forehead on the table. There was nothing he could do.

He heard a whoosh of something being swung through the air, followed by Fitzgerald’s chuckling turning into laughter.

“That’ll do it, don’t you think?” he said loudly, which was followed by a murmur of agreement from around the room, a few of them laughing along with him.

For the first time, Kent thought about the other people in the room. Not only were they ignoring the crime taking place in front of them, but they were apparently spectators. 

He suddenly felt a wave of shame from the way he was being handled by them without being able to fight back, and all of them staring at him in his current vulnerable position.

_Whoosh, whack._

Kent screamed as he felt a sharp burning impact across his buttocks. For a split second he thought, he’d been striped again, but there was no tear of fabric and flesh, and no blood running down his legs. Just the searing pain.

_Whoosh, whack._

The pain didn’t even have time to dull before he was struck a second time. He screamed again, as he dug his nails into the pool table cloth. Fresh tears sprung to his eyes.

_Whoosh._

Kent flinched bodily at the sound, and room roared with laughter and jeers. Fitzgerald’s was the loudest.

“You scared, boy?” he said amongst his laughs, and then darkly added: “Good.”

His anger took over and he furiously hit Kent over and over with no pause. He could already feel his skin start to swell where the first hits had landed and as the new ones crisscrossed the old ones the pain only intensified.

Kent’s yelling turned into sobs.

“Please,” Kent begged, despite knowing it would change nothing. “Please stop!”

“Oh, I’m not done!”

_Whoosh, whack._

Now, Kent could feel the warm blood running down his legs, as some of the impacts had caused his skin to tear.

_Whoosh, whack._

His whole body shook from the pain.

_Whoosh, whack._

Kent cried out between the sobs.

“Bloody hell, look at him. I think the fucker might’ve learned not to mess with us,” Fitzgerald said. “ _Haven’t you_?” he snarled the last words at Kent.

Kent couldn’t get a word across his lips, even though he knew the only thing he could say in this situation was yes.

_Whoosh._

He flinched again at the sound and finally managed to force out a choked yes.

“Good, I think we’re done the- Oh, what’s that?” he interrupted himself to say, even though no one else had said anything. “An encore? Alright. Just one more then!”

_Whoosh, WHACK._

Either he had put his all into the last hit or it was the accumulated soreness from the previous welts and wounds, but Kent thought he was going to implode. He couldn’t take any more pain, and he was about to black out.

“Yeah, that felt right. We’re done, lads!”

With that Kent was grabbed by the back of his coat and thrown onto his legs which immediately gave way underneath him and sent him crashing to the floor.

A shadow fell over him as Fitzgerald walked up to him, he threw aside the pool cue he’d used to beat him.

“It was so good to see you again!” He said with a malicious grin, before commanding the others to follow him out with a throw of his head.

Kent’s whole body was shaking from the pain. He tried to move, but the effort it took was too much and he just lay there. For how long he didn’t know. All he could register was the pain throughout his body, but eventually he became self-conscious of lying beaten on the ground while the conversation of the other patrons started up around him, as if nothing had happened.

He painfully got onto his knees and hands, before grabbing onto the pool table and trying to hoist himself onto his feet. His buttocks burned with pain, and his legs shook violently with the effort.

He managed to get upright, but it was very clear that it wasn’t his legs that were holding him up as he held on tightly to the pool table.

He stood there, slowly looking around to see the others staring back at him briefly before ignoring him completely. He burned with anger and shame, but he was too scared and hurt to say anything. Having them ignore him was the best possible outcome he could hope for anyway when he thought of their laughing and jeers. At least none of them were keen to incite violence themselves. They just encouraged it from Fitzgerald and his men. He wasn’t gonna press his luck and call them out on it though. He didn’t dare.

He kept himself upright, scared of falling down again, but his arms were hurting and shaking with the effort as he stood there.

After a while he carefully put his weight on his legs and didn’t immediately feel them give way. He cautiously, but successfully made his way to the next table to grab onto. Slowly but surely, he managed to get to the stairs where he was relieved to see a railing to hold onto, otherwise he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to climb them.

Walking was painful enough, but the stretching of the wounds, as he took a step up the stairs, made him hiss and curse. He heard a chuckle from the room behind him and immediately presumed it was from the people watching him.

At least he was gonna be out of there and away from them.

The first step out into the air didn’t bring any relief though, as the first thing he spotted was his Vespa.

It had been pushed over. The body was full of big dents and scratches. Both windshields were smashed and one of the tires was bent. It wouldn’t be able to drive anywhere.

Fuck. Kent loved that scooter, but of course Fitzgerald had known that and done this just to add salt to the wounds.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. It wasn’t like he’d have been able to ride on it anyway, so it’d just have to stay there.

He had to get away, but where was he to go?

He couldn’t go back to the station. Not like this. The last thing Chandler had told him was to not get in a fight. Well, to not bring his anger into it or start a fight or whatever, but did it really matter? He couldn’t face that. Not right now. It was too much.

Going to the hospital would surely get back to Chandler as well. He was still on duty. He thought of the stress, the questions and the burning shame it would bring if he were to go. No, he couldn’t.

He started moving, a hand resting on any structure he could use for support as he began walking home. He kept his head down, but he could see people staring, as he limped along wincing with every step. He could only imagine how horrid he was looking. For most their reaction was just a shocked face that was then turned into blatantly ignoring him, not wanting to deal with whatever was going on with him.

Maybe that said something bad about society, but Kent couldn’t ask for more. He couldn’t deal with anything and to the few people who asked if he was ok – what a stupid question. Of course, he wasn’t – he answered with a dismissive “yes” and they got the hint.

At least he didn’t run into anyone who thought to call the police. He couldn’t even begin to think how to explain that when it eventually got back to Chandler.

No, as he was walking, he knew that all he could do for now was to give him a call, say he’d fallen ill and had to go home, but that he couldn’t get any additional information from the owner of the pub. What he’d do after that was anyone’s guess. He couldn’t plan that far. He could barely keep focused enough on putting one leg in front of the other as his whole body burned with pain and shook with effort.

Eventually he reached his flat. He was almost about to collapse in anticipatory relief as he reached the outside, but he had to make a last big effort to pull himself up the stairs. He felt nauseous and faint once he finally managed to get up to the right floor.

His hands shook as he pulled out his key and tried to unlock the door. It took several tries and he was almost starting to panic when he couldn’t do it. He was resting up against the door, but his body was warning him. Any moment now and he would faint.

At last he managed to open the door, and even though, he wanted nothing more than to find a place to rest, he turned around and locked the door again.

The moment he did so, his throat closed, and tears sprang from his eyes. Like his body had shut down until he had a sense of familiarity, a small sense of security. Like he only just realised what had happened to him. Had only just _let_ himself realise it.

He wanted to bury his face in his hands, but the slightest touch reminded him that everywhere hurt, and he resorted to pulling painfully at his hair instead as he let out a scream.

He stumbled forward and again he was reminded that his body couldn’t take anymore. A quick assessment and he realized the only thing he could do to get the smallest sense of comfort was to lie face down.

He made his way to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. He winced at the impact on his bruises. He’d have to take a look at the damage at some point and clean himself up. Everything he had to do would have to be at some point, cause in that moment, almost as soon as he let himself relax, he drifted off.

He wasn’t sure if he was actually sleeping. It felt like he was just lying there, unable to move his body, or do anything but think of how tired he was and go over what had just happened to him again and again, the hurt, the fear, the shame, the anger and the pain. Sometimes his mind would settle on new worries: What was he going to do about work? What if he told on Fitzgerald again? Would it mean even more of this in the future? What if he had followed him, waiting to see what he would do. If he would keep his mouth shut this time around, and then his mind cycled right back – hurt, fear, shame, anger, pain.

Eventually Kent felt like he was able to move again. His mind wouldn’t rest and even if he had slept, Kent’s mind felt even more exhausted than it had before. He was mentally drained, and he felt horrible.

He felt and heard a buzzing sound in his pocket, and it took him a second to realise that it was his phone, before he slowly and agonizingly got a hold of it. His whole body was tense from the constant pain it was bombarded with from anywhere no matter what Kent did.

The buzzing stopped just as Kent had fished the phone from his pocket. He tried to focus on the screen, realizing how limited his vision was now that both his eyes had swollen.

“10 missed calls”, the phone read. “DI Chandler.” 

Oh no. He hadn’t called.

His stomach sank with a new worry. Chandler was going to be furious with him.

The phone lit up and started buzzing again as Kent stared at it. It was him again, but Kent couldn’t bring himself to answer. What would he even say? He put the phone on the table next to his bed and let the jarring buzzing sound resonate on the wood, as he buried his head in his pillow.

He knew he couldn’t just ignore his problems, but there was simply nothing else he could think to do.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Kent jumped into a half-seated position at the sudden sound. He tried not to rest on his wounds, but they were already burning too painfully for him to stand it, so he had to get up. He couldn’t lie back down in that previous vulnerable position. Not with someone at the door.

He stood up and his world blacked out for a second. He stood still and took a deep breath.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Kent was frozen to the spot. He heard someone try to open the door. What if they’d come back to torture him even more? Give him the faintest bit of security before they decided to crush that as well.

_BZZZRT_

Kent got a fright as his phone loudly buzzed against the table. Oh no. They’d know he was there!

“Kent! Answer the door!”

Chandler. It was Chandler.

Kent stared at the phone. He was calling him, and now he could tell he was home.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“Kent! I know you’re in there!”

He was angry.

Kent gingerly stepped closer to the front door, afraid of letting Chandler know he was right there.

The knocking continued.

“Detective constable Emerson Kent!”

Kent winced. Being addressed by just his full name and rank by an angry Chandler was horrible.

“If you don’t come over and open this door, I’m gonna have to open it by force.”

Kent started hyperventilating. Oh no. He had to do this. He wanted to respond but the word got caught in his throat.

The knocks on his door got louder.

“Sir,” he finally got out, but it wasn’t loud enough to carry through the door.

“Sir, I’m here!” he called.

The knocking stopped.

“Kent! What’s going on? Open the door!”

“I’m sorry sir, I forgot to call. I didn’t feel so good, so I had to go home. I’m sorry I forgot. I must’ve come down with something bad. I better not open the door. At least you didn’t miss out on any vital info, cause I couldn’t get any words out of the pub owner.”

“I know. I spoke with him. I saw your scooter, Kent. Open up and tell me what happened!” He was still loud, but maybe there was something else to it than anger. A sort of frantic worry.

Of course if he’d seen the Vespa and then he couldn’t get hold of Kent, he would already know something bad had happened.

Kent leant up against the wall. He was so fatigued. He’d really hoped he could just. Not do anything. Not be anything for a while, but the world didn’t stop, and now he had to open up the door and tell Chandler what had happened. It was too much, but he reached out and unlocked the door with a click.

He stepped away from the door, still leaning up against the wall for support. There was a pause. Chandler probably expected him to open the door as well, but he couldn’t make that decision.

The door clicked open when Chandler realized that Kent wasn’t going to open it for him. Kent adamantly stared at the ground.

“Kent!”

The loud demanding tone made him flinch involuntarily.

Chandler must’ve noticed, cause when he next spoke, it wasn’t nearly as loud.

“You need to tell me what happened. Why is your scooter all smashed up? Why didn’t you come back to the station after going to the pub? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls?”

Kent couldn’t even begin to think about how to answer any of that.

“Can you please lock the door again?” he asked, ignoring the rest for the time being.

“What?” There was a pause. “Yes. Of course.”

He heard the click of the lock again and then another click. Chandler had turned on the light. Kent hadn’t even realized how dark it was until the room brightened up.

“Kent!” Chandler almost gasped in surprise. _“What happened?”_ his voice intensified as he’d gotten his first good look at Kent. Kent didn’t even know what he must look like, but he shrank under Chandler’s gaze and kept his bruised and swollen face out of sight as he vehemently stared at the ground.

“Did you-? Kent, why didn’t you contact us? Did you start the fight?” Kent could hear the confusion in his voice. That would make sense, yeah. Kent, who couldn’t control his anger anymore, started a fight with a civilian and couldn’t go back to the police station afterwards cause he’d done a despicable deed. Cause why else wouldn’t he go back to the station? Why wouldn’t he seek help?

He just couldn’t. _It was too much._

“No, sir,” Kent replied.

“But why- what- Kent. You need to tell me what happened,” Chandler’s voice was lower though it still had a panicky edge to it. He was getting closer to Kent. So close that he could smell the tiger balm.

“Kent, look at me,” he said, as he was right in front of him.

He didn’t.

“Please.”

That was enough for Kent to glance up, immediately to meet Chandler’s worried gaze. His eyes widened as he saw Kent’s bruised face. He didn’t say anything for a moment, as his eyes darted about, taking in the most obvious of his injuries, the rest being hidden away underneath his clothing, only hinted at when blood had been drawn.

“Who did this to you?” Chandler almost hissed when he finally spoke.

Kent was caught off guard by Chandler’s reaction. He’d been prepared for anger, fiery and loud or cold and authoritative. Chandler was furious with him the last time they spoke, and Kent was fully expecting suspension as a result of the fight and subsequently not contacting work and ignoring Chandler’s calls to the point that he had to follow him to the pub, follow him all the way to his flat.

Chandler had been right not to trust him. Yet, at the moment, all of his fury seemed directed elsewhere, at Kent’s attackers. All he had was Kent’s words that he hadn’t been the one to start the fight and still he’d seemingly taken that as the truth. Maybe he _did_ still have some trust in him.

“Kent, you have to say something.” Kent could hear the agitation in his voice. He couldn’t just keep standing there saying nothing, but he didn’t know what to say. He was scared of telling him about Fitzgerald and the former uniforms, so he decided not to mention anyone specifically.

“They cornered me and attacked me at the pub. I promise, I didn’t start it!” Even if he did seem to take his word for it, Kent wanted to convince him.

Chandler talked to him once more, but Kent was distracted by a wave of nausea. He rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes. Standing up, even leaning on the wall as he was, for so long was getting to be too much for him.

“Kent!” Chandler reached out to support him, but Kent winced in pain at the touch, and Chandler withdrew quickly.

“How bad is it?” Chandler’s voice sounded panicked.

Kent was trying to breathe deeply to combat the growing nausea. “Pretty bad.”

“Why haven’t you gone to hospital?”

“I’m still on duty. I was scared of this getting back to you,” Kent admitted. “I went off and got into a fight right away.”

“But you were _attacked._ You- Kent, there’s no need for you to stand up like this, please find a seat.”

“ _No!_ ” Kent quickly responded. Sitting down with his wounds would only be worse, and Kent couldn’t lie down prone in front of Chandler. It was too awkward. Too vulnerable.

“You can barely stand.”

“I’m fine!” Kent said through gritted teeth, hoping that Chandler would just leave it. He couldn’t tell him why. He burned with humiliation just thinking about it. At least the bruises were good for something – hiding the furious blush creeping across his face. It couldn’t hide the tears.

Kent had never liked to cry in front of people. He didn’t want to. Especially not in front of Chandler. But thinking of the humiliation he had endured, he just broke.

“Kent, you’re clearly not fine. Please just-“

“I can’t, okay! Leave me alone!” Everything was bubbling over. He didn’t mean to snap at Chandler, but it was too much.

He was starting to feel faint, his whole body was shaking, and even though he was pressed against the wall for support he could feel himself slowly starting to glide down. He stubbornly fought back the tears and pushed himself to keep upright. He just had to get through this conversation. Then Chandler would leave, and he could go back to passing in and out of a horrible consciousness.

“Like I said, I was attacked at the pub. They smashed my scooter and I walked back here. I passed out shortly after coming back and forgot to call. I’m sorry. That’s it. I’ll take responsibility for my bad decisions, but can it please wait, cause no, I’m obviously not okay, but please sir, I just need to have some time for myself. Is it alright if we deal with all of this later?”

“Don’t worry about anything work related for now, Kent. I just want you to be okay. Are you sure you don’t need to go to hospital?” 

“Yeah, I just need some re-“ he didn’t even finish the sentence before he blacked out for a moment.

The next thing he knew there was a pressure on the bruises on his ribs. He groaned at the pain.

“I’m sorry!” Chandler’s voice rang close above his head, and Kent realised the pressure came from him hanging in Chandler’s arms. He’d caught him and prevented him from falling. Kent instantly tried to stand up on his own, so Chandler didn’t have to struggle with his deadweight.

As soon as he stood up again, he caught a glimpse of Chandler’s face. It was painted with concern and worry.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Kent immediately responded.

“Don’t be. Just, _please sit down,_ Kent.”

Kent bowed his head.

“I can’t.”

His whole body was burning with shame and he hadn’t even gotten to the point yet.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

There it was. The follow up question. Couldn’t they just leave it at that?

“They beat me. They beat my ass bloody, and I can’t sit down. That’s what I mean. I physically can’t!” Kent snapped again, but only to protect himself. Admitting this, and in front of Chandler of all people, was horrible. 

Being hurt was one thing. Being threatened, and becoming scared and paranoid was another, but this was the second time they’d targeted him in a way that was meant to humiliate him. He felt so small and ashamed. So violated.

And now he’d been forced to admit to what had happened. It was all too much.

“So, can you please just go? I just need to be alone. Please,” he’d never poured his heart into any words more. He just couldn’t take anything more, and he _needed_ Chandler to understand.

There was a long pause. Kent didn’t look at Chandler. He couldn’t bear it.

“Alright, we’ll leave it for now. I’m glad to know you’re safe at home, but if it gets too bad, I hope you’ll call someone, a doctor, a friend, me. Please.”

Kent only nodded in response. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the sentiment, but he would have agreed to just about anything in that moment to just get to be by himself. He couldn’t handle anymore.

Chandler hesitantly headed for the door, and Kent didn’t waste any time. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, and he had to head for his bed again.

He took one step away from the wall and the next thing he knew was darkness.

When he came to again, he was lying on his stomach. Not on the hard floor of his flat but on his bed. His duvet was tugged snuggly around him. It took him a while to focus, his vision still being poorer from his hurt eyes.

The door was open, and looking through the doorway into the living room, he could see Chandler sitting on his sofa, busy typing something into his phone.

Kent buried his head in his pillow. Chandler had put him to bed. He didn’t know whether he felt embarrassed or endeared by that fact, but whatever it was, he felt a lot of it.

He could feel that he’d been in the same position for a long time, and his bruised body was hurting and complaining. He propped himself up with his arms to shift his position a bit and groaned involuntarily at the effort.

Chandler looked up from his phone.

“Kent!” he called out and headed for the bedroom. He’d put a chair next to the bed which he now sat down on.

“I’m sorry I haven’t left yet, but I couldn’t. I also know you didn’t want to go to hospital, but I had to call a doctor. He’s on his way,” Chandler informed him.

Kent closed his eyes forcefully. It was already too much straight away. Why was consciousness like this? He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, but you’re hurt badly, Kent, and I need to make sure, you’re OK. There’s some water on the table for you to drink. I can make you some tea if you’d like, or if you’d like me to make something to eat.”

Kent knew this was an absurd situation, to have his boss sitting in his room and fuzzing over him. Had he not been so overwhelmed he would probably have focused more on the absurdity of it, but as it was, he just accepted it and politely refused.

“No, thank you, sir. You don’t need to do any of that.”

He kept his eyes closed though less forcefully. The thoughts of food and drink made him nauseous and even though he knew it was important for him to eat and drink something, for now all he could do was lie still and control his breathing. He didn’t want to get stripped of his last bit of dignity by throwing up all over his bed.

“Are you okay? Is there anything you need?” Chandler worried.

“No, it’s – I just need to lie still for a moment.”

“Okay.”

Chandler didn’t say anything for a while, and even though Kent was mostly focused on his own discomfort, he couldn’t help but be very aware of Chandler’s presence. It was so alien in this space, and Kent felt strange and vulnerable as he lay there. On the other hand, it was much better than the disaster scenarios he had concocted in his mind of what Chandler’s reaction would be. It was nice to know that he cared and was willing to go to such a length to help Kent. There wasn’t much evidence that anyone at the station cared for any of the others at the station lately. Of course, he was aware that he was part of that problem. He wished he wasn’t.

“I want to apologise,” Chandler said suddenly.

Kent didn’t respond. Hopefully Chandler would clarify without a prompt from him.

“I know team morale has been really bad lately, and I haven’t done my part as a leader to rectify that. Quite the opposite really. I’ve… not being doing so well lately, and it has made me act in ways I’m not proud of and treat people in ways, I didn’t want to, but it didn’t seem like there was any way to not feel and act like that. Especially not with the challenges we’ve been facing. So, I just let it be, while trying to work the new cases, and it’s only seemed to have gotten worse.”

Kent could feel his throat constrict again. Chandler was describing exactly how he had felt for a long time now.

“And I’ve been angry too, seeing all of you handling things in your own unhealthy ways, even though it’s hypocritical of me. I sent you out, and you didn’t come back, no word from you, no way to contact you, and I was so angry.”

Kent’s stomach dropped. He’d been right, and it was even worse hearing it from Chandler himself.

“But then I went to the pub and I saw your Vespa all smashed up, and I was wracked with guilt for assuming the worst from you. You’ve always been a great detective, and even if things have taken a toll on all of us, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that. I hurried down to talk to the pub owner, but he just told me he’d briefly talked with you, but that he had nothing more to say, and that you’d been in and out of there in a matter of minutes.”

Of course, he said that, Kent silently fumed.

“When you still didn’t reply, I my mind assumed the worst in an entirely different kind of way.”

_Oh no_. Now it was Kent’s turn to feel guilty.

“This was the next place I could think to go and when I heard your phone buzzing, but you didn’t reply, I panicked. I was ready to kick the door in, and then seeing you. I’ve never felt such a mixture of relief and worry at the same time, and anger. At whoever did this!”

“It was Fitzgerald,” Kent finally opened his eyes again to look at Chandler. He looked emotional, but Kent couldn’t place what he was feeling.

“What? No, Kent, you don’t need to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.”

Chandler was pouring out his heart to him, so the least he could do was tell him the truth. It wasn’t as if he’d feel safe, if he didn’t tell Chandler who did it, so what was the point, and Chandler had already seen him like this and heard the worst of it, so he might as well give him some answers.

“Did you say Fitzgerald?” Chandler’s expression changed and this time it was easy to tell what he was feeling. Anger.

“Yes, him and a couple of the corrupt uniforms from back when we had the Kray case. I don’t remember their names, but I would be able to find them on file. They heard me speaking and came up to me. I got a bad feeling off of them and I was about to leave- I wanted to leave, but they grabbed me, and I fought to break free but I coul- I couldn’t.”

Saying to himself that he could just as well tell Chandler about it and actually doing it were two different things. He began crying as he spoke. He didn’t have any say in it and it happened with no warning as soon, as he brought himself back to that moment. Normally, he could compose himself until he was alone, but he didn’t have any control. Feeling frustrated with himself, he rushed through the rest of what happened trying to sound like he wasn’t so affected by retelling it.

“Fitzgerald punched me until I couldn’t stand. Then they kicked me and dragged me up against a table so they could beat my ass with a pool cue.”

He closed his eyes again after the last sentence. Even though he’d already told Chandler once it was degrading.

He flinched slightly when he felt a slight pressure between his shoulder blades. Not because it hurt. It was one of the few places that didn’t hurt right now, and the touch was soft, but it was unexpected.

Kent looked at Chandler. He looked unsure and his hand briefly lost contact with Kent’s back, before coming to rest there again. 

It was clearly meant to be a gesture of comfort. Kent knew it wasn’t Chandler’s strong suit. He’d seen him having to comfort people on the job with varying degrees of both success and awkwardness.

But everything was already so weird that the tactile connection with Chandler genuinely was comforting. When every other feeling in his body was so unpleasant, the slight pressure on his back telling him Chandler was there with him felt grounding.

“We will find them. We’ll get them again!” Chandler said reassuringly, but Kent wasn’t convinced.

“With what evidence? It’ll be my word against theirs. Against the whole pub’s actually. Yeah, I think it’s pretty safe to say that there’s something sketchy about the place. They all just watched.”

“That won’t stop us from trying! We’ve persevered in pretty rough cases before!”

As Chandler said that it was almost like seeing the younger optimistic version of Chandler again from a time that felt so long ago. 

“Although back then we were a team. I hope we can get back to that. I know I will try to do my part to be there for you all the best I can. We need to be there for each other, and it starts now. We’re gonna work hard to see Fitzgerald and the others come to justice!”

“I attacked Mansell today just cause he was happy. I don’t think he’ll be super motivated to help me out. Riley’s not there. Miles is preoccupied with other things, and I taunted Buchan when _he_ was almost the victim on a case. I don’t think this is what’s going to rally them all to come together. And I would understand it.”

Kent hated himself for the negativity he was spewing, shutting down Chandler’s kind words, but he just couldn’t see how they could all come together for his sake. It wasn’t believable.

Chandler wasn’t so easily deterred though. Kent should’ve known. It was _Chandler_ after all _._

“No, if this was all fixed with a positive attitude, we’d have been fools for not doing it yet. But I’m serious. I’m going to put the work in and be there for you all.”

“But who’s going to be there for you? You might be our DI, but you can’t shoulder everything on your own,” Kent said, already feeling like it was bound to fail like everything else at the station. There was no comeback from their latest defeat. “You’ve been through the most of all, yet you’re the one who has to stay strong and deal with everything. Ugh, fuck, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this, sir. You don’t have to waste time on me anymore. And I’ll see the freaking doctor when he comes, so you don’t have to worry about your DC being an idiot again. I know I’m in a bad way and it’s best to have it checked out.” He continued, feeling guilty that Chandler had had to invest so much worry and energy on him when he was feeling bad himself.

“Hey, Kent, I mean it,” Chandler said firmly. “I’m gonna be there for you, and that begins right now. I’ll leave if you want me to leave, but not if it’s just because you think it’s a burden for me to be here. I’ll also stay if that is what you need right now. Or I can call someone to come, if you’d rather it not be me.” The pressure on Kent’s back increased slightly and Kent became aware of it again. Aware that despite everything being awful, he wasn’t alone, and with Chandler’s words, he realised he didn’t want to be alone. Without Chandler there, he knew his only company would be his own dark thoughts.

“And Kent. We’ve all been bad lately. We’re gonna move past that. Don’t think for a second that the things you mentioned are gonna keep anyone from being behind you 100% in getting justice for you.”

Kent sighed as he gathered up the courage to ask Chandler to stay. He’d offered it, but still it felt wrong to ask of him. Kent couldn’t help but feel selfish to ask Chandler to stay, when he could have him call a friend or his sister, but despite it being foreign and strange, having Chandler there also felt comforting in a way that he desperately needed right now, and in a way he was sure was connected to it being _Chandler._

In the end he simply settled on: “It would be nice if you stayed when the doctor comes.”

“Of course!” Chandler said with a reassuring smile, as he used his thumb to gently stroke Kent’s back.

“Thank you, sir,” Kent said as he closed his eyes again, needing to rest a bit more before the doctor came. His fatigue and the calming presence of Chandler granted him the brief peace of mind it took to drift off to sleep.

He hoped that at some point he’d be able to articulate his gratitude towards Chandler properly. The horrible feelings, mental and otherwise, were far from over, but Chandler’s presence felt like a silent promise that it was never going to be too much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading :)


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